Let Me Entertain You
by Schuyler
Summary: H/D. Draco receives his first assignment from the Dark Lord. Sometimes the best attacks come when you're looking directly at your enemy.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: All hail JKR. 

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: R.

Don't Like Slash: Go away.

Let me entertain you Let me make you smile Let me do a few tricks Some old and then some new tricks I'm very versatile And if you're real good I'll make you feel good I want your spirits to climb So let me entertain you And we'll have a real good time, yes sir 

_We'll have a real good time_

The day Lucius called Draco into his study, in the broad daylight, by himself personally and not through a house-elf, was the day that Draco Malfoy would continuously refer to as "Black Sunday" when recounting the events surrounding it to himself when he was lonely or just remorseful.  He would often try to pretend that it was all Lucius.  Never Draco.  Always Lucius, pulling the invisible strings attached to Draco's wrists and legs, making him dance this way and that, entertaining friends, enemies and Death-Eaters alike with his spitting image.  Draco hated him.

            But still, he went when he was called.

            He counted the steps as he walked as slowly as he could towards the ominous mahogany door located at the end of the hall that since today, he'd been forbidden to enter or even dwell near for too long.  Once as a child he'd rolled a ball (a mixture of accident and subconscious, morbid curiosity) through the tiny crack that the door allowed when it wasn't shut properly.  

            "Three, four," counted Draco as he walked towards the door, his perfectly shined shoes clicking against the perfectly shined floor in the perfectly shined hallway.  "Five, six…"

            _The ball had rolled under a bookcase, and a giggling five-year-old Draco bounded in after it, despite Dobby's constant shrieking of "Young Master!  Please come back!  Dobby will get you a new ball, sir!"_

"Seven, eight," Draco murmured, his resolve waning as he recalled his last visit to Lucius' study.

            _"Hurray!" cried out Draco when he finally clasped his tiny hands around the ball.  He immediately began to skip towards the door to continue playing when the shadow of his furious father loomed over him.  Draco's smile vanished as the cane his father often brandished was raised into the air._

_            "I thought I told you to NEVER--- "_

_            "LUCIUS!" screamed Narcissa, shoving her husband out of the way and scooping a now sobbing Draco into her arms.  "He's just a boy!"_

_            "My darling," Lucius replied poisonously, "he knows not to be in here."_

_            "The house-elf must not have been paying attention," Narcissa snapped, rubbing her son's back as he cried into her shoulder.  She whipped around and started walking back down the hall towards Draco's room.  "And if I ever, and I mean EVER, see you raise a hand to my son again, I will personally deal with you, Lucius Malfoy."_

_            Lucius' lip curled in fury.  "My dear, you keep him where he is supposed to be, and my hand will never have to be raised to him."  With that, he slammed the door so forcefully that it sent Draco into more spasms of uncontrollable sobs and muffled apologies._

_            "I'm sorry, Mother, I just wanted my ball—"_

_            "Shhh, my dragon," she soothed as she lay him on his bed.  "Now you know not to go into Father's study.  If something rolls in there, you tell me or Dobby, and we'll get it for you."  She sat him up and washed his face with the water from the bedside basin.  It felt cold against Draco's hot face, and he sniffled.  "Now come," Narcissa continued.  "No more crying.  Sing with mummy.  Ten little wizard boys jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped his head!"  She scooped her son up and tickled him until he shrieked with laughter.  "How many wizard boys left on the bed?"_

"Nine."  Draco stood directly in front of his father's study, staring down the door.  Had his father really asked him to come here, or had he dreamed it and was now awaiting a neat thrashing?  Overcome with paranoia and fear of the man he should have loved and respected over any other, seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy wanted his mum.  He fidgeted and the floorboard squeaked beneath him.

            "Draco?"  His father's voice boomed through the thick door.  "What are you doing out there?  Get in here, you foolish boy!"

            Immediately, Draco's hand latched around the silver, elegantly carved handle and was so overwhelmed that he shoved it open, and it swung violently and crashed into the bookcase, knocking a few of the books in it to the ground.  

            "My, my, aren't we eager?" spat Lucius, standing up angrily.  "Well, pick them up!"

            Draco immediately bent down to pick up the books.  "I'm sorry, Father," he said automatically; the words had been programmed into him since he was born.  Disappointing Lucius was one of Draco's stronger talents.  His hands shook as he picked up a leather bound copy of _The Art Of Torturing Muggles._  Draco shoved it into the bookcase where it had been and forced himself to forget what he just saw.  Another of his talents.

            "If you're through ransacking my study, sit down."  Lucius sank back into his green leather chair and laced his fingers together on his desk.  Draco obediently sat in a green chair in front of the desk.  "You remember Macnair, of course."

            A man Draco indeed remembered was in the corner of the study, pouring over a book that Draco highly doubted was about fairy tales.  The executioner peered over the top of the book and smiled to reveal graying and yellowed teeth.  "Young Master Malfoy."

            "How do you do, sir?" Draco nodded his head politely.  The dealings Draco had with Macnair and the hippogriff were nearly five years ago, and Draco had sincerely hoped that this compatriot of his father's would stay out of the Manor and away from him.  

            Lucius sipped a snifter of brandy that he had in front of him.  "You must be wondering," he drawled, "why I've called you into the most secretive part of the Manor, in the broad daylight, without telling your mother."

            "Mother doesn't know I'm here?!" Draco yelped out before he could stop himself.  His only ally was being deliberately kept in the dark!

            "Don't interrupt," Lucius said coldly.  "I'd prefer not to burden your mother with this.  She's been far too busy as it is with charity balls and what not to keep Fudge happy.  Now listen to me." Lucius leaned forward.  "You've been given your first assignment by the Dark Lord."

            Draco wasn't expecting that.  He wasn't even expecting anything but a reprimand for a silly mistake he'd made days before, so insignificant that it wouldn't matter to anyone but Lucius, who was a connoisseur of Draco's follies.  He was sure he had felt his heart stop completely.  It had begun to rain outside, and Draco watched the drops hit the gilded window beside Macnair, who was still practically coming in his pants over the awful book he had in his gnarly hands.  "Father," said Draco quietly.  "I've not even been given the Mark yet, and I've already been given an assignment?"   

            Macnair suddenly snapped the book shut and looked towards Lucius.  His mouth shut tightly in a firm, small line, and his eyes were nervous slits.  "Master Malfoy…"  He began to take a step over to the desk.  "Sir…"

            A sudden crack sounded throughout the room as Lucius swiftly rapped his cane directly in front of Macnair's foot, the sharp snake fangs missing his toes by mere centimeters.  "I'm sorry, Macnair, were you going to say something?"  Lucius' grey eyes were still on Draco, and from his mouth poured the poisonously sweet words to the executioner.  

            "N-no.  No sir."  Macnair looked at Draco for a split second before turning and walking back towards the bookcase, picking up a copy of what to Draco looked like something called _The Art Of Seduction Spells_.  Draco reminded himself to laugh later about the thought of Macnair having sex with a woman.  Laugh, or maybe vomit.  He would decide later.

            Lucius briskly snapped his cane back to his side and folded his perfectly manicured hands on the table.  "Now, Draco.  Do be honest with Daddy.  Are you a virgin?"

            "What?!" Draco blurted out before he could stop himself.  He looked over to Macnair, who immediately whipped towards the window and hummed over something in the book he was reading.  "Father, I don't know what the Dark Lord has planned for me, but—"

            "Oh, relax, Draco!" hissed Lucius, rolling his eyes.  "The Dark Lord doesn't want to have his way with you or something equally ludicrous.  Now get these foolish notions out of your head and answer my question!"

            Draco felt colour creep up on his cheeks.  No, he wasn't a virgin, and hadn't been for three years.  Pansy had convinced him after the Yule ball fourth year.  She'd slobbered all over him and her breath was bad, and Draco was panicked that someone would walk in on them.  All in all, the first time was quite an unpleasant experience that turned Draco off from sex altogether for about a year until he'd found a suitable partner in Blaise Zabini.  Granted yes, Blaise was a boy, but it's certainly true that boys know their way around boys' bodies far better than any girl ever could.

            Blaise was fun for a start.  Draco then moved on from partner to partner, selecting them carefully and exclusively.  He burned white hot for them for a month or so, and then he gradually grew bored with them, disposed of them properly, and began afresh with someone else.  Like any good lover would, Draco always had another one lined up before he dismissed the previous one.  Zabini, then Finnigan, Boot, one of the Weasley twins (George, he was fairly sure, but Draco was convinced that sometimes they switched places on him), Macmillan, Pucey, and his latest conquest was a Hufflepuff by the name of…Flinch-Rightly?  Fletch-Finchley?  It wasn't hard to find a horny boy in Hogwarts, Draco soon learned.

            "No, Father, I am not a virgin."  Draco had never felt more embarrassed and stripped of all dignity when he uttered those words.  At least his father would now dismiss the idea of him being a virgin sacrifice.  

            Lucius face quickly transformed to one of happiness.  "So, you would venture to call yourself an excellent lover?"

            Draco immediately realized that the previous question of virginity was nowhere near as mortifying as the new question of sexual ability.  He wondered if Crabbe and Goyle had to answer questions like these.  Yes, all his lovers were in ecstasy with him, and made no qualms about telling him so.  In fact, when he called off the affair, some of them were known to send him owl after owl, pleading with him and asking what they had done wrong.  Draco reveled in the attention and took pride in the fact that sex was his greatest talent besides Potions.  And annoying Potter to no end, of course.

            "Yes, I suppose," Draco said quietly, clapping his eyes on the floor and shifting his feet nervously.  "Father, what is this about?"

            His father's chair creaked as Lucius leaned back.  "This is ABOUT your mission, Draco.  The Dark Lord requires your assistance in seducing someone.  You must bring them to your bed, make them love you, and lead them straight into the Dark Lord's hands, because he is VERY interested in this specific person."

            Draco felt his stomach sink to the bottom of his abdomen.  "No…you don't mean…please tell me that one of his nicknames is _not_ The Boy Who Lived."

            Lucius smiled a hideously sadistic smile.  "And here I thought you were a complete dunce.  Ten points to Slytherin, if I could give it.  Potter is at his most vulnerable now, Draco, after the death of the Diggory boy and his canine godfather.  His friends are leaving him behind gradually, and being the Boy Who Lived just doesn't have the perks it once did.  If his worst enemy at school suddenly came to love him, imagine how he would feel.  He would do anything you asked, Draco.  Just keep him distracted and entertained."

            Burying his face in his hands, Draco knew better than to ask if he really had to do this, but his instinct took over.  "Entertained? Like it's a show? Father, why do I have to do this?"

            Lucius stared back at him for a moment.  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.  "Lucius!" Narcissa's voice echoed through the mahogany door.  "Where is Draco?  Is he in there right now?  Lucius!  Where is he?"

            Lucius looked at the door, and looked back at Draco.  "Because," he replied, "something very terrible could happen to someone you care about immensely."  

            "ALOHAMORA!"  The door swung open and Narcissa stomped in, shielding her wand back in her robes.  "Draco!  Lucius, why didn't you answer me?  Why is Draco in here?"  She began to feel Draco all over, as if Lucius had done something physical to him.  "Are you all right, my darling?"

            "Yes, mum," Draco answered quietly, taking his father's promise to heart.  "I'm fine."

            Lucius sighed and turned his face to the papers on his desk.  "Go now, Draco, I'm through with you.  And my dear Narcissa, in the future please wait until I say 'Come in' before bursting into my study like a wild woman."

            Narcissa shot him a look and wrapped her arm around Draco.  "Come, my darling, one of the house-elves just made some cookies."

            "Yes, mum," said Draco again as the study door began to swing shut behind him.  He looked over his shoulder and saw Lucius smiling back at him, his eyes full of glee and triumph, as if Potter was already dead and Voldemort was the almighty ruler of the world.  Then the door clicked shut and Draco saw him no more.  


	2. Chapter Two

Let me entertain you 

_Let me make you smile_

_Let me do a few tricks_

_Some old and then some new tricks_

_I'm very versatile_

            "Owl if you need anything," Narcissa said in between the multitude of kisses she was planting all over Draco's face.  "I'll be sending some sweets as soon as we get back to the Manor…please write all the time, my darling!"

            Lucius, however, characteristically didn't share his wife's enthusiasm for his son's well being.  "Stop embarrassing yourself, my dear," he remarked coolly, pulling her back by the shoulder from Draco.  "Our son is quite old enough to make his own way in life."

            Draco resisted the urge to snort incredulously, but gave into the temptation to look down at his father's left forearm, covered in the finest materials but truly concealing nothing from anyone who had any idea of the wizarding world.  Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater by day…also Death Eater by night.  Lucius' eyes bore coldly into Draco's when he noticed where his son was looking.  "You'll miss the train," he said quietly.

            "Yes, Father."  Draco let a house-elf push his cart towards the luggage compartment and began to walk towards the train when his father's voice rang out behind him.

            "There's that nice Harry Potter.  Sit with him, Draco, he looks lonely."

            Draco didn't turn around, and sat by himself.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

            "You ought to have seen her face, Malfoy," guffawed Goyle, grinning stupidly at Draco from the other side of the compartment.  "The Mudblood nearly had a fit.  '_I am Head Girl here!'"_  

            Draco scowled.  "That has got to be the worst impression I've ever heard of anyone, much less Granger."  He was visibly angry that his two goons found him so quickly, he'd been hoping for at least a half hour of deep pondering about this Potter situation.  He certainly couldn't go about it like he went about his other conquests;  Potter was probably into more than sex.  He probably liked to cuddle and hold hands.  Draco inwardly groaned and shook his head.  

            Crabbe and Goyle continued laughing at whatever idiotic prank they had pulled, ignorant of Draco's want for them to be anywhere but there.  "I mean," wheezed Crabbe.  "She and the Weasel were so mad, they locked themselves in a compartment alone."

            "I don't even want to know what they're doing!" bellowed Goyle, dissolving into fits of laughter.

            "But whatever it is, Potter isn't invited!"

            Draco's head snapped up.  "Potter is alone?"

            "Yeah," answered Crabbe, reaching over and helping himself to a Pumpkin Pasty.  "Mudblood and Weasel didn't seem very interested in him, more in each other.  He's in the second compartment from the front of the train."

            Goyle shoved two Chocolate Frogs in his mouth at once.  "People tell me that he's been in a bad way recently.  One of the Creevey brats let it slip to Finnigan that he tried to kill himself over the summer."

            "You're lying," exclaimed Draco, his eyes wide.  "The Golden Boy trying to end his life?"  

            Mouth still full of frog, Goyle nodded and made slashing motions towards his left wrist with his right hand.  "Tried to do himself in," he said, after swallowing.  "I overhead Finnigan telling Thomas at the platform.  Too bad Weasel found him before he snuffed it, eh, Malfoy?"

            Mind spinning with these new facts, Draco stood up.  "I'm going to patrol the corridors," he said numbly.  "I'll be back later.  DON'T follow me," he added sharply when the two other boys started to get up and walk towards the door.  Draco was about to close the door behind him when he stuck his head back into the compartment.  "What exactly did you two do to Granger and Weasley?"

            "Oh!" Crabbe cried out, laughing again.  "Goyle goes, 'Hey Granger, look over there' and she did, and there was nothing there!"

            Draco stared at the two boys cracking themselves up.  "I weep for the future," he said blandly before shutting the compartment door behind him.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

            Potter? Of all people?  Trying to kill himself?  The savior of the wizarding world?  Everyone adored him; he was the Headmaster's favourite boy, star Quidditch player.  Easily the most popular boy at Hogwarts, excluding Draco of course.  The blond Slytherin wracked his brain as he patrolled the corridors, docking points from first years but not really enjoying it as much as he normally would.  This disturbing news about Potter really was unnerving.  Of course, the rumour mill could have always been wrong, it had been in the past.  But never about something like this.

            "Malfoy," a voice drawled from a compartment.  "I've been waiting to see you."

            Sighing, Draco peered into the compartment to see Flinch-Leftly making eyes at him.  "What do you want, Flinch-Occasionally?" Draco spat at him venomously.  He wanted to get to Potter now, while he knew for certain he was alone.

            The Hufflepuff blinked.  "Um…I'm sorry.  But it's Finch-Fletchley.  Justin Finch-Fletchley."  He looked positively shaken that Malfoy had forgotten his name.  (Draco was convinced he had never known it in the first place.)  He stood up and tugged on Draco's robes to get him into the compartment, skillfully shutting the door behind him.  "It's been the longest summer of my life," he moaned, slipping a hand into Draco's open robes.

            Startled, Draco shoved him away roughly.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

            Justin stumbled back and blinked at Draco confusedly.  "I'm…I'm ravishing you.  You told me before the holiday that you liked being ravished."  He put the stupid grin back on his face and proceeded towards Draco again, pinning the blond against the wall before he could react.  "Come on, Draco…"

            "I dismissed you months ago!" Draco yelped, attempting to shove him off.  "You were discharged in May of being my whore!  Get off me, Finch-Fletchley!"

            "At least you got my name right," purred Justin, burying his face into Draco's neck.  "We're definitely moving forward."  His finger began to undo the clasps on Draco's robes. 

            Draco struggled and cursed and swore, and his hand tried in vain to snatch his wand out.  "I swear, you tosser, when I get my hands on you—"

            "I can hardly wait!" Justin giggled.  "Come on, Draco, you said you liked it this way—"

            "I MEAN IT!"  Draco genuinely felt scared now; the train was loud enough that people wouldn't hear his screams.  There was no way he was going to start his final year at Hogwarts by getting non-conned by a fucking Hufflepuff!  "GET OFF ME, FINCH-RAPIST!"  He screamed so loud he didn't hear the compartment door open.  He was flailing his arms so much he didn't see the holly and phoenix feather wand, eleven inches, being raised.  And his ragged breaths from pushing Justin away drowned out the voice of Harry Potter.

            "IMPEDIMENTIA!"

            Justin flew back against the seats in the compartment, and immediately howled in pain as his head connected sharply with the windowsill to his right.  As he clutched the back of his skull, he glared up at the doorway.  "What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?" he screamed.

            "POTTER?" Draco turned incredulously towards the doorway, and indeed, there was the Boy Who Lived, his wand still pointed angrily at Justin.  Potter certainly didn't look like he had the previous year.  If possible, he'd lost more weight, and his violent green eyes were hovering above dark circles.  His messy hair was even more unkempt than usual, and his glasses, most often repaired by Hermione, were crooked and had what looked like a tiny piece of spellotape holding one of the earpieces on.  But what Draco noticed the most about him was his demeanor.  Potter had become an angry, angry boy.  He looked at Finch-Fletchley with a mixture of hate and disgust; Draco had seen the look on Death-Eaters who were ready to kill.  The hand Potter used to hold the wand was up, and his robe was slightly pushed back from it.  Draco unmistakably saw part of a twisted, white scar on the pale inner forearm of Potter's wrist.

            Without taking his eyes off Justin, Potter backed up slightly.  "All right, Malfoy?"

            Draco touched himself tentatively on the chest and on his face.  "Yeah."

            "Okay."  Potter instantaneously shielded his wand back into his robes and quickly slunk up the corridor back to an empty compartment away from everyone else's.  The door slid shut and everything was quiet, except the dull engine of the pumping train.

            Draco stared after him in disbelief for a moment, then turned his face back to Finch-Fletchley.  Eyes narrowed, he snatched his wand out of his robes.  

            "Draco…what are you---" The Hufflepuff looked terrified.

            "Stay where you are," Draco hissed.  "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable."

            "Oh," said Justin in relief.  "Thank goodness."  He grinned and stood up as Draco sauntered back down the corridor.  "I knew he would come around."  He turned towards the window to check out his reflection.  Fixing his hair, Justin hummed and heard the compartment door slide open again a few moments later.  "Welcome back, my sexy Slyth—what are YOU two doing in here?"

            Crabbe slid the compartment door shut and locked it, and Goyle cast a silencing charm.  They both smiled stupidly at Justin, cracking their knuckles and punching their hands.  "We, my unfortunate little Hufflepuff, are something more comfortable."

                        *                                              *                                              *

            Draco hurried back towards where he saw Potter disappear.  He grinned slightly as he heard various crashes and hits from Finch-Fletchley's compartment; he would be the first student in the hospital wing after Crabbe and Goyle where through dismantling his face.  He knew those two were good for something.

            The second to last compartment was in front of him now, and taking a deep breath, he slid the door open.

            "Potter?" he sneered into the tiny space.  "What the hell was that back there?"

            Harry looked up at him from his seat by the window, an uneaten Chocolate Frog melting all over his fingers.  "Sod off, Malfoy."  His voice was raspy and barely above a whisper.  He looked back out the window at the trees that looked like green blurs due to the train's speed.  

            Draco stepped into the compartment and noisily shut the door behind him.  "I didn't need your help, you know," he lied viciously.  "I could take nine Hufflepuffs at once."

            "I'm sure you have, too," said Harry quietly, putting the frog down and wiping his fingers on a handkerchief.  "Shut the door behind you when you leave, please."

            Tightening his mouth into a firm line, Draco sat across from Harry and pulled the shade down, blinding him from the salvation of the window.  "I mean it, Potter.  You can't resist just playing the hero whenever you have the chance, can you?  Why the hell did you interfere in my affairs back there?"

            Harry looked Draco directly in the eyes.  "I did what any decent person would have done for anyone.  Perhaps you would let me get raped on the Hogwarts Express; and maybe I'm the only one on this train who would help you out.  And I'm sorry if a lousy Gryffindor helping you pissed you off, Malfoy.  I won't bother in the future."  He turned his entire body away, curling up in a ball on the seat.  "Please leave."

            The compartment was silent for about two minutes before Draco spoke again.  "Why did you try to kill yourself, Potter?"

            Harry didn't move.

            "I'm asking you a question, Potter."

            Harry didn't move.

            "Potter.  Why did you try to snuff yourself?"

            Harry made a small noise that sounded like a sigh.

            Draco stood up and jerked Harry around so he was facing him.  "Potter, why the hell did you try to—"

            Harry's green eyes were welled up with tears.  "Get out, Malfoy.  This is the last time I'll ask you.  Please go.  Leave me alone."  Harry pried Malfoy's fingers off him and sat back into his seat as far as he could go.  His voice was cracking and the tears were threatening to spill down his pale, gaunt cheeks. 

            "Gods, Potter, you don't have to CRY about it," Draco drawled, his resolve to keep pushing Potter until he cracked waning gradually.  Harry was really upset.  "Just answer my question!"

            Suddenly, like a five year old, Harry's hands snapped up to his ears, covering them.  "GET OUT, MALFOY!"  He curled back into his ball.  "GET OUT!"

            Draco was shocked by this display.  He stepped back a few steps quickly, watching Potter have a mental breakdown in front of him.  "Potter, what in the name of Merlin is wrong with you?"  He started to walk towards him again to try and calm him down.

            "One more step and you're dead, Malfoy," said an angry voice from the doorway.  Draco looked up and saw Ron and Hermione, wands drawn, rage in their eyes.  "Take a step," Ron said quietly.  "I'm begging you to, Malfoy, because there is nothing I would like better than to curse you into the seventh layer of hell right now."

            Draco glared at Ron as Hermione put down her wand and ran over to Harry, enveloping him in her arms and rocking him back and forth.  "It's alright, Harry," she whispered to him.  "It's alright."

            Ron stepped aside, wand still poised and ready to fire on Draco.  "What reason could you possibly have, aside from being a git, for being in Harry's compartment?" 

            "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," snapped Draco, glancing at a now calm Potter, who was staring at him blankly.  "But Potter actually just did me a favor a few minutes ago, and I wanted to thank him.  He just started freaking out when I asked him why he tried to off himself this summer."

            "That's it, Malfoy," growled Ron.  "Get the hell out, and I don't want to see you near Harry ever again."

            Draco rolled his eyes.  "Big loss for me.  See you, Mudblood.  Weasel."  Before he left the compartment, he turned to face Harry.  "And…thanks, Potter."

            Harry looked at him incredulously for a second, and then nodded his head.  "No problem," he said softly, before snapping the shade back up and taking in the scenery again.

            "Out." Ron shoved Draco back and slid the door shut.

            The hiss of the air brakes and the sharp blasts from the whistle told Draco that they had arrived at Hogwarts.  Leaning back against the wall across from Potter's compartment, he slid to the ground and buried his face in his hands.  "Potter…what have I gotten myself into?" he scolded himself.  Now he felt in debt to Potter, which was the worst feeling of all, almost as bad as seeing Harry freak out on him.  Potter had saved his life, well, he'd saved something of Draco's.  Draco wondered why, knowing full well he wouldn't do the same for Harry if the roles were reversed.  He would have to pay him back.

            "Let's go, Malfoy!" said Crabbe gleefully, shutting the door to Justin's compartment, drowning out the moans of pain coming from inside.  "Time to start another year!"

            Draco nodded and stood up.  He followed Crabbe and Goyle out to the horseless carriages, and as he climbed into one, he wondered how to pay Potter back for his…chivalry.  Staring down at the red velvet seats inside his carriage, Draco tiredly shut his eyes, expecting to see a bright red tinge from the velvet on his eyelids.

            Instead of the bright scarlet, he saw the white coloring of the twisted scar on Potter's right wrist, dancing and curving evilly up to god knows where on his arm, disappearing into his robes. 


	3. Chapter Three

            "I heard he did it because of Chang."

            "Don't be stupid, they lost interest in each other almost two years ago."

            "Someone told me that Weasley found him the second before he would have died.  I reckon he lost a lot of blood.  Lucky thing Granger was there, eh?  She's the cleverest witch going."

            "You're wrong.  He tried to off himself because of Sirius Black.  He was his father, don't you know?"

            "He was not his father, you twit.  Sirius Black was his _god_father.  And besides, that was two years back, why would he suddenly kill himself over something that happened two years ago?"

            "Who do you think you're calling a twit?"

            "You, you twit."

            "Piss off."

            "What say you, Malfoy?  Why did Potter try to snuff it?"

            "I say you two have detention for three weeks.  Now keep your traps shut."

                        *                                              *                                              *

            The hallways of Hogwarts for the first few weeks of school were abuzz with talk of Harry Potter.  Crabbe and Goyle had successfully spread around school that he'd tried to kill himself, and if you didn't believe them, just ask Malfoy, he saw the scars on Potter's wrist.  

            Malfoy was enraged when the rumours got back to him, landing Crabbe and Goyle in detention for three weeks was a mere trifle of a consolation for Potter thinking he was responsible for everyone humming about him trying to kill himself.  But even if Potter did know, he never approached Malfoy about it.  In fact, no one really saw Potter more than necessary.  He would go to classes and meals, but sit quietly and talk little to anyone but Ron and Hermione, then retreat to Gryffindor Tower straight after.  Draco's sources told him that Potter was indeed still playing Quidditch, but soared high above the rest of the team at practice, obediently caught the Snitch, and he would not come down until everyone was back in the locker room and out of sight.

            "Double Potions today, Malfoy," groaned Blaise, sinking down onto the bench beside him at breakfast, burying his face in his hands and sighing.  "Seventh year is a nightmare, mate, I'll tell you something."  He reached across Draco and grabbed the milk pitcher.  

            Draco grinned and nudged him.  Blaise was the only jilted lover Draco could stand, partially because he took it exceedingly well, and partially because he wasn't opposed to the occasional snog session.  Besides, Blaise was a good bloke, and maybe the only Slytherin that Draco didn't want to put through a wall every single day.  "Potions is our break, Blaise," Draco pointed out as he sliced his bacon.  "It's transfiguration we have to worry about.  McGonagall loves her Gryffindors."

            Blaise mhm'ed around a mouthful of eggs then swallowed.  "Quidditch tryouts next week, eh?  We definitely need a better team this year, it's our last chance!"

            Nodding, Draco listened as Blaise ranted and raved about Quidditch.  But he noticed Potter sauntering into the Great Hall, flanked by Weasley and Granger.  They were around him closely, per usual, as if they were protecting him from some unknown danger.  Potter stood complacently between them, his gaunt and pale face juxtaposed to his dark, messy hair, nodding every now and then when Granger would finish babbling.  Draco found himself staring at Potter with fascination.  His legs ambling next to lanky Weasley's and swift Granger's, his bony hands curling and uncurling as he cracked his knuckles, and even the occasional smile he granted his two friends were all so…interesting.

            "Malfoy? Are you listening?"

            Interrupted, Draco turned back to his food.

            "Honestly, Blaise.  No."

                                    *                                  *                                  *

            "What exactly is this monstrosity, Potter?" sneered Snape, jabbing his index finger down towards Harry's cauldron, which was steaming with purple, bubbling fluid instead of the blue, smooth concoction that it should have been.  Snape looked exceedingly happy to have a Potter punching bag for one more year, and he looked well prepared to get his last licks in before Potter wasn't his student anymore.  The seventh year class of Slytherins and Gryffindors had Potions for their last class, and as the sun poured lazily through the sparse windows in the dungeon, they were mixing a potion called the Serum of Sorrow, which would make the taker utterly miserable.  It's what Hermione said ran through the Dementors' veins instead of blood.

            Harry stared into his cauldron and stirred it nonchalantly.  "The Serum of Sorrow," he answered quietly.  "I must have added too much powdered narcissi.  I'm sorry, sir."

            "Sorry?" repeated Snape, a bit taken aback that Potter wasn't being his usual defensive self.  "Potter, you are an ignoramus."

            "I know, sir."

            "YOU KNOW?"

            Hermione raised her hand.  "Please, professor," she pleaded.  "Don't—"

            "Silence!" Snape snapped at her before turning back to Harry.  "You will make the potion again in detention tomorrow!  And ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence!"  

            Harry blinked.  "Alright, sir."  He continued to absently stir the potion.

            Snape looked confused, and snatched the spoon from Harry's hand.  "Did you hear me, Potter?  I said detention! With me! Tomorrow!"

            "I know, sir, I heard you," Harry replied politely.  "I'll be here immediately after dinner."

            "And…and that doesn't make you angry?!" Snape sputtered.  "It doesn't make you want to talk back to me or be impertinent?"

            "Come off it, sir!" yelled Ron from Harry's side.  "Leave him alone!"

            "SILENCE, WEASLEY!"  Snape looked so angry that Draco barely recognized him.  He'd never realized how much Snape relied on the good feeling he got from making Potter wish he was dead.  "Potter, you are just like your father!  Ignorant and arrogant and completely worthless!"

            A cry of rage swelled up from all the Gryffindors.  All except one.

            "I'm sorry, sir," Harry said again, as polite as ever.

            Snape glared at Harry for about a full minute, his teeth and fists clenched tightly.  "Class. Dismissed."  He gathered up his robes and sat huffily at his desk, hands folded in front of him, like a child who was denied his favourite toy. "GET OUT!" he added sharply when no one moved.  "I'll see you tomorrow at 7, Potter."

            Harry nodded and gathered up his things.

            "I'm so sorry he did that to you, Harry!" gushed Hermione as she hustled over to Potter from her table.  

            "It's okay."

            "No, mate, it's not."  Ron practically snarled as he snatched up his bookbag.  "He's such a git.  No wonder he didn't have any friends at school."

            Across the room, Draco was slowly gathering together his belongings with Crabbe and Goyle.  He watched Potter carefully as he conversed with Granger and Weasley about lord knows what, and his eyes casually traveled all over him, ending on his forearm, hidden by his robes.

            "Ow!" hollered Crabbe as he filled his vial with his potion.  "Careful, Malfoy, this stuff burns something awful when it touches you!"  Wincing, Crabbe and Goyle corked their vials and left them on Snape's desk, where their teacher was still glaring at Potter.  "We'll see you at Quidditch practice, Malfoy."

            Draco said goodbye, and when he turned back, Potter and his friends were gone.

                        *                                              *                                              *

            Draco couldn't find Potter again for the rest of the day.  He staked him out outside of Gryffindor Tower, and then slunk around the pitch to catch a glimpse of him at practice.  The Gryffindor team ended up not having practice that day, and Draco's shoes were stained with grass colouring because of his thirty something laps around the pitch, casually walking and waiting for the scarlet and gold robes to come whizzing out of the locker room.

            Potter skived on dinner as well.  Draco impatiently chomped his peas and sliced his lamb messily, peering over Crabbe's huge head to see if Potter was just late.  He wasn't, and Granger and Weasley looked so anxiously at the empty spot near them Draco was sure Potter had a row with them earlier about them treating him like he were made of glass, and now they were worried because he had stomped off.

            "All right, Malfoy?" Blaise inquired worriedly from his right side.  "You've been really sketchy all day, mate.  Is something bothering you?"

            Draco cleared this throat and wiped his mouth daintily with his napkin. "I'm fine, just a little off kilter about these Quidditch tryouts…"

            Inhaling deeply, Blaise was quickly off and running about the team, its players, its lack of morale, and its intense need to take a collapsible baton to the back of Potter's leg to insure a victory.  (Draco was sure he had read a similar incident in a Muggle newspaper before, and that girl didn't get away with it and neither would the Slytherin Quidditch Team.)

            "…and that's what's wrong with our Beaters…"

            "What's wrong with our beaters?" demanded Goyle from across the table, holding a lamb chop in his hand and glaring at Blaise.

            "Nothing really…except YOU DON'T BEAT ANYTHING!"

            "Come off it, Zabini!" 

            "It's true!"

            "Well, you don't really CHASE ANYTHING EITHER!"

            "Good one!"

            "Shut up!"

            Suddenly, Draco slammed his hand on the table.  "Quiet, you lot! There he is!"  He sounded thrilled.  Everyone looked over to see Harry Potter quietly walk into the Great Hall and sit at the Gryffindor Table between Ron and Hermione, who looked absolutely thrilled at his sudden entrance.

            The Slytherins all turned back slowly.  "It was just Potter."

            "Um, yeah."  Draco put on a poor impression of his usual trademark sneer.  "Uh, that git.  He walks like such a….git."  

            The table was silent for a few seconds.  

            "You know, he really does sort of walk strangely," Blaise said thoughtfully.  "I was checking out his backside one day and…"

            "You were what?!" Draco burst out before he could stop himself.  He'd really not thought this plan through very well.  He said it himself, it wasn't hard to find a horny boy in Hogwarts, and…some of them actually fancied Potter!

            Blaise flushed.  "He may be our worst enemy, Malfoy, but I can still look.  He's very good looking, you know.  And you could bounce sickles off his--"

            "He's…he's a git, Zabini!" Draco exploded, shoving his plate away from him.  The idea of someone else fancying his conquest made Draco feel a sort of jealousy he wasn't sure he enjoyed.  And it wasn't the usual jealousy he felt for his conquered lovers.  By accepting the mission from Voldemort (not to mention owing Potter big time for saving him on the train), Draco in a way had claimed Potter as his own.  Not for a month or two, but for however long it took to complete the mission.  He had to love Draco enough to trust him.  And by God, Draco Malfoy would make him do just that.  

            "I know he's a git," insisted Blaise.  He looked over at the Gryffindor table longingly.  "And lord knows he's let his looks go to hell this year.  But still, I think I would like to fu—"

            "Finish that sentence and you'll wish you'd never been born."  Draco stood over Blaise menacingly.  Shaking, he pointed a finger at his friend.  "You stay the hell away from Pot—that git.  Or else you'll be in serious trouble.  _Unforgivable_ trouble, if you catch my drift."  

            The Slytherin table looked horrified at this sudden display of defense for Harry Potter, and Blaise suddenly grew pale.  "Alright, Malfoy.  Whatever you say."

            "That's right."  

            Draco looked over at the Gryffindor table and saw three empty places where the fabulous get-along gang had been sitting moments before.  "Son of a bitch!" Draco yelled, throwing his napkin onto the bench.  "I take my eyes off him for ONE SECOND!"

            "Malfoy, what the hell is wrong with you?" Pansy demanded, her pug face screwed up with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.  "Are you stalking Potter or something?"

            Rewarding her with only a glare, Draco stormed out of the Great Hall towards the only place he knew for sure Granger would drag Potter and the Weasel.

                        *                                              *                                              *

            "Lady slippers are most commonly used for love potions," droned Ron, reading his foot of parchment to Hermione, who in between reading her book, would spout out correction ideas or give Ron a reproving you-should-know-better glance.  "They are a rare plant in most parts of the world, and are protected under many bylaws…"

            "Ron.  You need to say why they're protected!" Hermione sang out without looking up from her book.

            Harry sighed from across the table and rubbed his eyes.  Reading for Potions certainly wasn't keeping him awake, and listening to Ron and Hermione bicker wasn't helping him either.  "I think I might just go to bed," he said quietly, reaching over to gather his books.  "I'm pretty tired."

            "No," said Hermione firmly.  She peered her eyes over the top of her book.  "You were late for dinner because you were napping, Harry.  Too much sleep will make you sick.  Just sit here and read your Potions, we'll go back to the tower in about an hour."  Then she disappeared between the covers of the book again, turning a page in one fluid motion.

            From the other side of the library, hidden in the shadows of the Restricted Section, Draco was hunched over doing his best to spy on Harry without being too obvious.  He cracked his knuckles nervously and watched, cursing Granger and Weasley for permanently lodging themselves up Potter's---

            "Ron, could you please get me _Merlin's Book Of Ancient Healing_?" Hermione chirped from behind her book.  "I need to look up some things about hemlock.  People think if you just don't drink the juice it may actually be a very good aphrodisiac."

            "Aphro-what?" Ron moaned, looking up from his parchment.  The line he had been working on was reduced to a string of nonsensical words, mostly about Snape being a git and the Cannons being the best team ever.  "I don't want to go get your book.  What am I, your bloody servant?  Besides, it's all the way in the Restricted Section and I'm not about to go prancing about Dark Arts books in the dead of night when You-Know-Who--" 

            A shrieking scrape interrupted Ron as Harry slowly pushed his chair back.  "I'll get your book," he said quietly.  

            "Thank you, Harry," scoffed Hermione.  "At least chivalry exists _somewhere_ in this school.  Here's the note from Professor McGonagall if Madam Pince catches you."  She handed Harry a neatly folded up note tied with a scarlet ribbon.  "It's over on the second row of books."

            "I'll have you know I'm plenty chivalrous!"  Ron raged as Harry walked away, sighing.  "Why, just the other day I held the door for Parvati!"

            "Thanks again, Harry."  Hermione harrumphed and turned a page.

                        *                                              *                                                          *

            Draco fumbled and quickly grabbed the nearest book when he saw Potter approaching.  The book opened its mouth to scream, but found itself being gagged with a note from Snape pretty much allowing Draco to be anywhere in the school he fancied to be.  "Shut up, shut up," he hissed as the book struggled to spit out the note.  "I can be here, Snape said so!"

            "Malfoy?"

            Draco slammed the book shut and turned to glare.  Potter was standing there, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion.  "What do you want, Potter?"

            "Were you just talking to a book?"

            "None of your business if I was," Draco snapped, withdrawing the note from the closed book and shoving the screamer back into its place.  "God, I can't escape you anywhere, Golden Boy.  I can't even enjoy a book without you coming over and screwing everything up."

            Harry shook his head and turned away, running his fingers over the books until he found the one he wanted.  "Merlin's," he mumbled, reading the title and using the note in his hand to free it from the chain.  He tucked the book under his arm and started to walk away.

            "Oy, Potter!" Draco exclaimed, lunging forward.  He knew he couldn't let him keep walking away—the bare facts said Draco had to seduce Potter, and he couldn't bloody well do that when Potter was waltzing in the other direction because of some snide remark.  Politeness.  "I hope you don't think because of that little fiasco on the train that I…owe you or something!"  So much for politeness.  Draco leaned smugly on the bookcase in front of Harry.  

            Harry stared at Draco with an expressionless, almost unreadable face.  "You're still on about that train thing, aren't you?"  he said, trying to walk by Draco without touching him, a feat that Draco was making harder by blockading Harry into the aisle.  After a few seconds of this awkward dancing with Draco, Harry finally and with much frustration stepped back.

            "Malfoy, please just let me go by."

            "Not on your life," Draco sneered back, crossing his arms triumphantly.  "Not until you tell me that I owe you nothing for your seedy secondhand act of heroism."  He reached over and shoved Harry on the shoulder roughly.  "Say it, Potter.  Say I don't owe you anything."

            Suddenly, and before Draco could prod him anymore, Harry had Draco's collar in his hands and was pinning him up against the bookcases.  "Potter!" gurgled Draco, more in shock than anything else. He grasped at Potter's almost skeletal hands as they gripped him tightly.

            "No, Malfoy.  You don't owe me anything."  Potter's voice was such an airy whisper that it almost whistled as it came out of his barely open mouth.  "If anything, I owe you.  Thanks to your quick rumour spreading, everyone thinks I'm a mentally ill suicidal maniac, which isn't entirely true, but since when have you cared about accuracy when it comes to telling people stories about me?  But still, no one wants to talk to or be near me.   So thank you, Malfoy, for costing me nearly all my friends and classmates and essentially ruining my last year at the only place I can call home.  I don't know how I can ever repay you."

            With that, Harry released Draco and scooped up the book.  He hurried out of the aisle, leaving a disturbed young Malfoy in his wake.  Draco blinked a few times, took a few deep breaths, straightened out his robes and stalked out after him.  "Now you see here, Potter, I didn't spread any---"

            He thumped right into Harry, who was standing just outside the aisle, looking dumbstruck towards his table.  "Merlin, Potter, can't you walk?" Draco sputtered, walking around him to see what made him stop.

            Hermione sat complacently still reading her book.  One hand clutched the left cover, and the other was holding…

            Ron's hand.

            Every now and then Ron would smile at her, and Hermione would smile back before going back to her reading.  It was as if she knew when Ron would look up at her, because neither of them said anything.  Harry stood there, pale and almost shaking.

            "I'm losing them," he said softly.  "I'm losing everyone."

            Harry slowly began to back up towards the exit of the library, then whipped around and broke into a run down the hallway towards the Astronomy Tower.

            Watching him go, Draco gleefully turned back towards Ron and Hermione, who were inching closer to one another.  This would have been Draco's perfect window of opportunity to snag alone time with a very upset and vulnerable Harry Potter, but his Slytherin nature and learned detestation of muggle-borns and blood traitors, not to mention his distaste all things Weasley (including the procreation of a Weasley-Granger), took over.  "Hey, Weasel! Mudblood!  Keep the PDA's to a minimum; this is after all a public place!  You're making me sick! And Potter's all jealous!"

            Both of them snapped their heads up and yanked their hands back towards each other, blushing furiously.  "Sod off, Malfoy!" Ron yelled, standing up so fast his chair clattered back to the ground.

            "Don't mind if I do," Draco answered coyly, running out of the library down the same corridor Potter had disappeared down.

            "Hey! HEY!"  

            A hint of black robe disappearing behind a corner let Draco know he was right on Potter's track.  Finally, he would get Potter by himself and not surrounded by his two appendages.  The slamming of footfalls behind him meant the Mudblood and Weasel knew Harry was down this hallway.

            "Stay away from him, Malfoy!" Hermione screamed as she and Ron caught up.

            Huffing and puffing, Draco finally saw Potter tearing up the stairs to the Tower.  At the same moment he felt Weasley reach up and nearly grab his robes.  "Hands off the merchandise, Weasel!  Save your groping for the Mudblood!" he hollered over his shoulder, fumbling to reach his wand.  When he felt it between his fingertips, he recklessly pointed it over his shoulder and yelled out the spell for the Trip Jinx he'd gotten Potter with two years before.

            "OW!" Ron bellowed as he slammed against the ground, Hermione tumbling over him.

            Draco grinned and stood in the doorway leading up to the Tower.  Ron spat out some blood from his fresh lip wound and glared.  "Malfoy…you stay away from Harry.  When this jinx wears off…"

            "Talk is cheap," Draco yawned, slipping his wand back into his robes.  "I've got business with Potter."  Before Ron or Hermione could say another word, Draco gave a customary, aloof, I've-beaten-you-once-again eyebrow raise, and with the mutter of a spell, the huge wrought-iron door that was closed only when classes were in session swung shut with a loud bang.


End file.
